Fighting The Heat
by Kuroi Diamond
Summary: Summer in Blood Gulch brings out more than just bad moods in Grif and Simmons. A Grimmons story.


**Fighting the Heat**

* * *

What the fuck?

What the

_**actual **__fuck?!_

Dexter Grif slides down the titled shower wall until his ass hits the floor with an unattractive _'schlap' _sound. Did that actually just happen? Because he's been stuck in this canyon for a long time now, and that he's developed hallucinatory symptoms from the boredom is a strong possibility, but if Grif isn't entirely mistaken then a second ago Dick Simmons (teammate and annoying suck-up nerd extraordinaire) had cornered him in the shower, wrapped a hand around his prick and jerked him off until he came all over his hand.

And then he'd just up and left.

_What. The. Fuck._

Alright, so Grif can try and rationalize this. He can try and put this weird as hell incident into some kind of context. It's been real hot in Blood Gulch recently; the place usually seems like it is in a perpetual state of summer, but whatever this season is, it's like summer went and mated with the sun to produce heat strong enough to make the air shimmer like water. Even when the wind picks up, it's fiercely hot and just serves to whip up choking dust clouds and spread the sporadic grass fires. At least Donut seems to be having fun with those, but Grif really hadn't needed to know that Officer Hotpants apparently had a brother who was a fire chief...

Yeah, so it's really hot. And while this means that the Blues have been relatively inactive lately, probably unwilling to venture from the shade provided by the cliffs overlooking their base, it also meant that Donut is being weirder, Simmons is being bitchier and Sarge is being, well, _sargeier. _Even Grif has been finding he's more irritable in the heat, which must be bad considering he's from Hawaii.

Since he and Simmons have most of their duties assigned together, they've been finding themselves at each other's throats more than usual. Simmons, ass-kisser that he is, won't shirk on his duties for anything while Grif is pretty sure that because it is _hot as fuck_ they should be taking it easy. Their armour's environmental equalizers are meant to keep their body temperatures regulated so they're comfortable in all weathers, but whoever calibrated the sensors has clearly never been to Blood Gulch in the summer. Nobody on the team will even complain about it; Sarge and Simmons have a fucking Human Centipede thing going on when it comes to Command and the chain therefore; Donut is too busy trying to fight fires with his dance routines and watering can and Grif is, of course, too hot to do anything and completely unapologetic about it.

The only respite from the gyrating, the trigger-happy sergeant, the bitching and the _heat_is the daily hour they get for tending to personal hygiene. Another feature of their suits is supposed to tend to most of that for them, but the canyon even seems to fuck that up. They'd realized early on in the season that with the excess dust clogging up the filters, staying in the suits too long lead to a stale smell building up inside them. Since nobody wanted to go around all day smelling their own unwashed bodies, Sarge had finally introduced a wash hour; sixty rather uncomfortable minutes spent naked in the abject company of the other Privates, but sixty minutes they could spend getting clean, brushing their teeth and giving those suit filters a scrape.

Donut, oddly enough, is the most efficient of them when it comes to washing up and is usually done in twenty minutes. Grif just figures it must be down to all that practise he's had being a giant girl. Even Simmons uses the entire hour to make sure everything gets attended to, though that may just be because he's an obsessive-compulsive geek.

Grif, in true Grif style, simply uses the time to relax. He even smuggles a few bottles of beer in so he can stand under the spray and enjoy a cold one, easily ignoring the disapproving looks from Simmons and the slightly hurt looks from Donut that he isn't being included. Sarge showers in the CO's quarters so he can't tell him not to and Simmons isn't such an asshole that he'd rat him out. No, Grif gets the feeling he just likes having excuses to feel like he's _better_than him.

But yeah, Donut's speed and Simmons' thoroughness means that Grif and the maroon-armoured soldier often get left alone together for about thirty to forty minutes. It isn't generally spent speaking, rather it's spent with Simmons blushing like a teenage girl getting her cherry popped, what with the way he can never seem to figure out if he should face Grif or keep his back to him. It's not like Grif has a great interest in staring at Simmons' lily-white ass or the thatch of ginger hair above his crotch he can never quite cover with his hands, but seeing as the only entertainment he really gets out there is bugging Simmons or watching bootlegged porn, Grif opts to always stand facing him and makes absolutely no moves to cover his shame. Hell, why should he? Grif may not have the "I got beaten up in high school a lot, so I spent all of college working out" physique Simmons sports, but he isn't as lard-assed as they tease him about being, and besides... His dick is huge.

What can he say? He's gifted. In a way that _counts_, thank you very much. Not the creepy home-schooled, spelling-bee winning way Simmons is. Grif had caught the envious blush on his face the first time they'd seen each other naked. And he hadn't missed Donut's kind of hungry look either. _Hmm, maybe next time I'm drunk_ he had thought. They've been in that canyon a _long_time...

He'd had no idea, not a single clue, that Simmons felt frustrated in the same way. Clearly, he was suffering more than Grif was in that department because after a particularly humid day that had ended in Sarge discharging his shotgun into the dirt at _both _their feet (their bickering was apparently "geddin" on his nerves) they'd found themselves alone in the showers once more, only this time Simmons hadn't been content to stay quiet...

"You know it's your fault Sarge is mad" he'd snapped, furiously soaping his chest between glares at the other soldier. Grif had raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"It's the _heat_, Simmons;' he'd pointed out "It's about a million degrees out and it's turning you all into bitches... More than usual." Simmons glare had not faltered.

"_I know it's fucking hot, ok?_' he'd growled through his teeth "but if you'd pretend for a second that you're actually part of this team and did what you're _supposed to do_, then maybe he'd feel less antagonized!"

And that right there had pissed Grif off. Because shower time was supposed to be relaxation time for both of them. And instead of using it to cool down and get clean, Simmons was just being his usual bitchy, fucktarded self; had he ever even understood that despite Grif's relative belligerence towards their situation, he was actually pretty laidback? Honestly, if the other Red solider didn't fucking _hound_him all the time; they'd probably have been friends instead of... Whatever the fuck they were.

So instead of just ignoring Simmons and popping the cap off another beer, Grif had shot back at him with what he'd come to realise would hurt Simmons the most;

"Oh, boohoo; Sarge is mad. Newsflash, _Dick_' he'd spat the other man's name poisonously "He's not your father, you should pull your head out of his ass; hell, he might even act less fucking constipated that way."

_Bam. Right in the daddy issues._

. . . Silence.

Well. He'd not been expecting that. Odd, because it was what Grif had wanted, yet it seemed somehow off. Simmons' usual embarrassed silence was like a thick woollen blanket; his discomfort giving Grif a warm feeling and tickling him in just the right way; but this silence had been all wrong. Instead it was cement-block-on-the-chest heavy and awkward. Grif wasn't sorry he'd said what he had; but the reaction hadn't been what he'd wanted.

He had just started thinking of how to follow it up and break that stupid silence, to make Simmons even madder when he'd spoken;

"You're right."

_... Uh._

"...My dad would never take potshots at me with a shotgun..."

_Ok..._

"... Probably because he barely knows I exist..."

_Oh fuck, TMI..._

Simmons had mechanically wrung out his wash cloth and hung it up while he spoke. He hadn't met Grif's eye so he'd been unable to discern the look on Simmons face, but it wasn't hard to tell he was upset; not the fleeting kind over an insult but the nasty enduring kind. The oppressive kind that keeps you awake at night better than any kind of existential crisis.

And _fuck_. Because Grif had known he'd have to fix it; angry upset Simmons was at least entertaining, but down and moping Simmons tended to do dumbass things like painting his armour blue and, if he was really honest, also tended to make Grif feel kind of bad.

"Well...' He'd said weakly "maybe he could gimme some pointers; cos I find it impossible to ignore your stupid ass."

Simmons head has inclined up slightly so Grif could actually see his eyes. He was struck by just how much exhaustion he saw in those green orbs and had the nasty revelation that Simmons was _tired_. Not in the physical sense, but tired of trying. Grif could see how reaching out for acceptance, day after day after day, and getting knocked back every time could take its toll on a man.

"Really...?" He'd said softly and Grif had taken it is a prompt to continue;

"Yeah, well, even if you do have your lips surgically grafted to Sarge's ass, you're a lot smarter than he is. And I guess it's nice to have at least one person on this team who isn't completely batshit crazy."

Simmons had stared at him with a bemused expression and then his lip had gone and twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

"You... Never knew you cared" He'd said and Grif had bristled.

"I _don't_.' He'd snapped back at him "I'm just telling the truth. I'd rather deal with you being your regular douchebag self than you moping."

They'd lapsed into the most awkward of possible silences after that. Maybe partly to do with what they'd talked about, but probably more to do with each man realising they'd just had a relatively intense heart-to-heart while standing buck-naked in the shower. That was definitely against the bro-code. Simmons hadn't stopped staring at him either which had really made Grif uncomfortable; he'd actually found himself turning away from his teammate's intense gaze. He'd made a show of unhooking a washcloth and starting to scrub, hopefully indicating to Simmons that the conversation was over...

He'd almost slipped over on the wet titles when a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. He would forever deny it, but Grif had let out a high-pitched squeaking sound when he found himself being crowded against the shower wall by Simmons and held there tight. Fuck, he hadn't even heard him move...

"Jesus! What the hell, Simm-_Ah!_"

And that's when Simmons had reached between them and Grif's mind went numb. He'd been very dimly aware that his teammate had his dick in his hand and a look on his face like he didn't really know what to do with it. But where both their minds had apparently shut down in the face of this new development, Grif's body had still been acutely aware of what it was supposed to do and that was respond to stimuli; before he could regain his senses, his hips were already giving an experimental half-roll into Simmons hand.

_Son... Of a bitch._

That little movement had apparently been enough to spark action from Simmons because a look of resolve had taken over the slightly baffled expression on his face and his hand... Fuck, his hand had started to _move_; thumbing over the head of Grif's rapidly hardening cock and moving down with a tight squeeze.

And _oh god_, that had made a strangled whine work its way from Grif's mouth. It had caused him to arch up into Simmons' hand and his head to fall back against the shower wall with a dull _'thud.' _Grif hadn't yet been able to form a coherent thought but the fragmented bits and pieces he could grasp at sounded a bit like _oh fuck... Oh __**fuck**__... What the holy hell, Simmons? Oh GOD... __**Don't stop**__..._

The cybernetic hand on his shoulder had clamped down hard enough that it'd likely leave bruises, but Gif hadn't been able to give a damn, not while he could hear the wet sounds of Simmons' hot, human hand working up and down his shaft.

"Sim... _Simmons_..." Grif hadn't been able to stop himself from thrusting into that tight ring of flesh encircling his cock and when Simmons had leant in, practically nuzzling his lips against Grif's neck, he'd not even felt ashamed as his hands had come up and tried to grip at Simmons shower-slick skin. Grif would have sorely liked to stop the humiliating pants and moans Simmons had torn out of him, but all he'd been able to think about was his leaking dick coating that hand on him so the noises became wetter and more obscene.

A particularly hard sucking kiss against his pulse point coupled with an almost vicious squeeze to the base of his dick had caught him off-guard and fuck, overwhelmed and over-stimulated he'd started coming right then, _far_too soon, all over Simmons' hand.

Briefly, and so fast he still wondered if he'd imagined it, Grif had felt the hot, damp pressure of lips against his own. And then he was sliding bonelessly to the titled floor as the wet slaps of Simmons feet hurried the fuck away.

_So. I guess that really just happened..._

. . .

. . .

. . . Ok.

Still staring off blankly at the opposite wall, Grif's hand groped to his right until it found a beer bottle. Seemingly on autopilot, he twisted off the cap and then brought it to his lips, quickly draining half the bottle. Bubbles fizzed up his nose a bit but he didn't take much notice, concentrating instead on the softening cock in his lap and the water carrying the last swirls of milky white down the drain.

_. . . Well there goes the evidence._

It occurred to Grif dimly that he should maybe be angry at Simmons; hell, he'd practically taken advantage of him.

_But you __**let **__him_something within him argued.

Yeah... That was true. But still, it was just because they'd been stuck out in this fucking canyon for years. Unlike Simmons, Grif was _not a fucking faggot_; he liked girls... Tits, pussy, asses you just want to dig your hands into; not tall, freckly male gingers with self-esteem issues.

_And spring-coloured eyes and creamy skin and..._

_**Fuck**_**.**

Grif took another pull of beer, this time a bit more desperate. The only reason Simmons appeared remotely attractive was because he lacked basis for comparison. Donut was ok in a run of the mill farmboy way but nothing special and the only other dudes he'd seen naked were in the grainy pornos he'd managed to get hold of and what with all the handlebar moustaches and guttural Eastern-European accents, it was imperative to focus on the girls or risk losing your boner... _Yeesh, no fucking wonder Simmons would seem hot._

Why had he run off? If anyone had the right to be freaking out, it was Grif; he was the one who'd been molested... Though that might not have been the right word. Still, it wasn't Grif's fault he'd fallen prey to Simmons' manipulations; after all, it was really hard to refuse a handjob, and it'd been Simmons who had gone and grabbed his dick like it was the fucking gearshift on the Warthog in the first place. All of this, Grif's confusion included, was _his _fucking fault.

A sudden flash of anger jolts him and he's scrambling to his feet and storming out of the showers, leaving it on and forgoing his suit; if he runs into Donut or Sarge, so help him he will knock them out and leave their ass in the corridor.

He reaches Simmons' quarters and slams a hand on the door control. The red-haired man is sitting on his bed, naked but for a towel around his waist and is now staring at Grif with a startled deer-in-the-headlights expression. The door closes behind Grif and he fucking _glares _at Simmons.

"Hey, what-" but whatever he'd been about to say is cut off as Grif storms inside, pushing him down onto that bed, then climbs on top; using his thighs to straddle Simmons' slender hips.

"_What the actual fuck, Simmons?_" Grif hisses. Because yeah; what the actual fuck?

"I- I don't- I'm not-" he stammers and while at any other point Grif would have taken some satisfaction in his know-it-all teammate not knowing what to say, right now it's just pissing him off more; he's confused, he's freaked out and, _fuck_... he's totally getting hard again. Maybe jumping on top of Simmons and making him all flushed and breathless had been a mistake; Grif really, really likes the way he looks all spread out underneath him and- _now would be a really good time to stop thinking that, Dex._

"_Look_, jackass;' he growls, trying to ignore the swelling of his dick and hoping Simmons will do the same "I don't know what the hell that was supposed to be, but if you think for one fucking second that I'm gonna let this go just because you had a panic attack and walked away, you've got another thing coming!"

"Grif, I didn't mean- I didn't know what to _say!_ I thought you'd be mad and clearly I was right!' Simmons explains "I don't know _why_I did it, ok? You were just... Being nice to me and we've been out here so long and I just... Lost control."

"_By jacking me off in the showers?!_' Grif fumes "Simmons, we don't even _like_ each other! Hell, we're supposed to _hate_ each other! And you just went and fucked it all up and now on top of the heat and Sarge being pissy and Donut being insane and the Blues and those assholes in black _and whatever else this fucking canyon decides to throw at us_, now we've gotta deal with _this! _And I don't even know what _this_is!" Simmons looks stricken.

"I'm _sorry_, Grif! We can just forget it! I won't... Won't talk to you anymore outside of duties. It'll be like it never happened..."

Grif seriously has to resist punching him in his dumb, pretty-boy face.

"You shithead; it's not that easy! Because now I know something is going on with you, and don't give me that bull about being _frustrated_; you could have fucked Donut, don't pretend you've missed the hints he gives to both of us. So I'm going to ask you and you had better man up and give it to me straight, because otherwise I am never going to forgive your stupid ass; _do you want to fuck me?_"

Simmons eyes go impossibly wide at that and he splutters something that sounds like "doIwannnawha?" but it's clear he understands because a dark crimson blush is staining his cheeks and Grif can feel the growing pressure of something firm and blunt pushing into his asscheek. He rocks back a little just to confirm and Simmons' eyes close.

"_Grif..._" it's not a moan; it isn't really much more than a whisper, but it is breathy and filled with something that has Grif leaning over his teammate, his arms bracing against the mattress with Simmons' head between them.

"Thought so." He murmurs softly and then because he really can't resist it anymore he's sliding his lips over Simmons' mouth.

And wow, yeah, he's into it because he's already parting his lips to let Grif's tongue lick inside with hot, sweet strokes and his hands are coming up to grip him by the hips. A shiver rolls through Grif at the shock of one hand that is all warm human flesh and one that is cool metal cybernetics touching his skin. The contrasting sensations go straight to his cock and he moves so he's grinding it down into Simmons who arches up against him.

"_Ooh, fuck Grif!_" He groans and it's probably the hottest thing Grif has ever heard; his name both a curse and a prayer on Simmons' lips. He reaches between them and pulls the towel away from Simmons so he can feel their skin slide together and _Christ_, he's so hard and ready, his cock already smearing a line of wetness against Grif's thigh. He wonders how much time they'll even get.

Glancing around the room, Grif spies a tube standing on Simmons' nightstand. He huffs out a laugh.

"Hoping for this all along?" he asks smugly with a nod towards the object. Simmons' eyes land on it and if possible, he actually appears to flush a deeper shade of red.

"It's not what it looks like! It's silicone oil for my arm!" He insists and Grif smirks.

"Yeah? It, uh... Skin-safe?" he asks and Simmons frowns.

"Yes, why- _oh_.' His eyes widen "S-should be fine..."

"Awesome" Grif leans over and plucks it from the nightstand. Flipping the cap, he upends the bottle and pours a large amount of the viscous fluid onto his hand; maybe too much, but this is a first for him so he's taking extra precautions.

Simmons shifts as if trying to turn over and Grif glares down at him "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Simmons blinks "Um, just making it easier for you too..." he trails off and Grif rolls his eyes.

"No, idiot; I said _do you want to fuck __**me**_and I meant it..."

Simmons' pupils are blown so wide that the green of his eyes is nearly swallowed by black.

"Oh my god, Grif; you have no idea how much I want that" he breathes, starting to sit up. Grif pushes him back down with one hand.

"_But_I get to be on top" he says with a wicked grin, reaching down and wrapping a hand around Simmons' cock, slicking up the length of it. Head falling back against the mattress, Simmons moans heavily.

"Just hurry up- can't fucking last like this..."

Grif's smirk widens a notch at that and he reaches behind to push one slickened finger inside himself. It doesn't hurt at all so he pushes another inside and curls them, pressing into just the right spot. His back arches and his eyes close as a shudder goes through the muscles in his thighs while he opens himself up. Opening his eyes again, he sees that Simmons is staring up at him looking stunned. Grif feels a sudden pang of self-consciousness, something that doesn't happen often.

"What?" His voice comes out a little sharper than intended and Simmons snaps out of his daze.

"Jesus, Grif; that was really fucking hot..." He breathes and Grif rolls his eyes.

"Shut up, Simmons; you know I'm not exactly a catch in terms of looks" it's not like he cares; he's laidback, after all. Born to take it easy.

Well. Speaking of taking it, Simmons' cock is dark red at the tip and looking so ready for him he should probably hurry up...

"No, Grif; I mean it...' He's saying, sliding his hands along his thighs "the way you just let go and don't even care... God, I really want you, man..." His eyes are desperate, perhaps even a little scared. Grif can't help but feel a small thrill at Simmons' unexpected intensity and he moves up and positions himself over the head of his cock, wrapping a hand around it at the base to guide it so it's just pressing against him.

"Then shut the fuck up and take me" he breathes, and he's sinking down onto that cock; feeling the heat and girth of it stretching him open and Simmons' is moaning, hands pulling on Grif's hips until he's sitting in his lap, cock seated fully inside.

It... _Hurts_, but it's a filling ache and Grif burns with the knowledge that long after they finish, he'll still be feeling it. He moves tentatively, just a little to see what it feels like and _oh. Fuck. Yes_; that's good. Simmons' appears to echo that sentiment, because he's looking up at Grif like he's some kind of god and his hands are trembling on his hips.

"Grif... _Grif!_' he's babbling "you've gotta move, _please!_"

"Yeah?' he drawls in reply, lifting his hips just a fraction "you wanna feel me fucking myself on your cock?" Simmons' reply is a pathetic, needy whine as he tries to thrust up into Grif, but the other man very purposefully keeps his full weight on Simmons' hips, preventing it "Yeah, no. C'mon, you gotta tell me; you like the way I feel wrapped around you? Does that make you wanna fill me with your come, Simmons?"

Green eyes flash and the other soldier lets out a low growl; it rumbles up from his chest like the purring of an engine and yeah, Grif's pretty certain he could get off on Simmons making that noise alone.

"I swear if you don't start moving _right the fuck now_, I am going to throw you off me and pound your ass on the _floor_." Simmons' hiss is accompanied by a threatening squeeze with his cybernetic hand on Grif's hip and for a moment the idea of getting fucked hard and brutal into the floor by Simmons sounds really good. His cock gives a twitch of interest, but Grif wants this to play out as long as possible; wants to take the other man apart piece by piece and when he can't stand it anymore, wants to make Simmons come hard inside his ass.

"Maybe next time" he says with a wink, raising his hips up until Simmons is in danger of sliding out of him. Keeping his eyes fixed on the other man's, he slides down slowly, watching the expression on Simmons' face go from borderline rage to dull shock to utterly wrecked. Grif watches his white teeth bite down on his lower lip, reddening it as he moans.

_Cock-sucking lips_; Grif thinks- _he's got fucking gorgeous cock-sucking lips..._ Yeah, he's got to get those around him at some point he decides as he rocks against Simmons and _oh, _Grif swears he can feel him pulse and throb inside.

"_Nngh... _Oh fuck, you feel good, Simmons; fucking love being filled with you..." he groans and it's taking a hell of a lot of self-control he never thought he possessed to ride him slowly, but when Grif enjoys himself he does it _right_, damn it.

"You talk too fucking much" Simmons grits out around the teeth clamped on his lip.

"Wanna shut me up?" Grif dares, leaning over and with a growl Simmons is pulling his face down and mashing his lips into Grif's. His lips are closed but Simmons' tongue is pressing against them, not so much seeking entrance as demanding it. When Grif opens his mouth, Simmons' tongue surges inside and it's kind of like he's trying to devour him. He's quickly realising it's not so much a kiss as it is a claim; he may be on top, he may be controlling the movements but the possessive way Simmons' is plundering his mouth tells him that the other man is not going to be content with just letting Grif get his way every time.

He's looking forward to seeing it.

Simmons pulls back and bites down, just this side of too hard on Grif's bottom lip and then presses his forehead against his; an oddly tender gesture seeing as his cock is still partly buried in Grif's ass, but not an unpleasant one. As nice as it is, Grif kind of wants to ride him into the mattress now; his own cock is hard and leaking a small pool on to the taut muscles of Simmons' belly.

Grif really, really wants to come. With Simmons inside of him.

He kind of likes how easy, how natural it feels to lean back and take Simmons fully inside, raise his hips, slide down, lather, rinse repeat. Like they've been doing this for years. They _should_have been doing this for years. Maybe if they'd spent less time griping about being where they were, they could have made something better out of the situation.

_Well. Better late than never._

Grif twists his hips a little so Simmons' cock slides hard against just the right spot and that sweet ache sends a shudder up his spine. Simmons seems pretty onboard with this little manoeuvre because his head goes back with a moan and the long line of his throat is bared to Grif; he really wants to bite down on the expanse of freckled skin, wants to make a huge purple mark blossom right in the middle of that pale perfection.

Fuck, he could probably get off just watching the tendons move beneath the skin alone; it's better than watching porn.

"So fucking pretty..." it slips out before Grif can really think about stopping it and Simmons looks up at him with eyes made even more impossibly green against the flushed skin of his face.

"Me?" He says disbelievingly and Grif replies by driving his hips down hard.

Even if Simmons had been planning to continue the conversation, he'd find it pretty hard to make coherent sounds as Grif starts fucking himself fast on his cock. Simmons' gaze is fixed below their waists, watching as he disappears into the other man's body with heated eyes. Grif wonders what he looks like on top of Simmons like this, wonders what he'll look like when he comes and the thoughts are just too much.

"_Uhn_- fucking touch me, man!" He groans out and pushes Simmons' hand down from his hip and onto his hard dick. Simmons obediently closes his fingers around it and _fuck yes_, it's good; Grif alternates his downward grinds with forward thrusts into the tight circle of those beautiful fingers and he's definitely not gonna last much longer. He can't control the string of babble coming out of his mouth now; it's the filthiest, smuttiest things he's ever uttered and he really doesn't give a shit;

"_Fuck_, you feel so good, babe- fucking make me come; make me come all over you- _Oh fuck!_"

And Simmons does; all it takes is a press of his thumb near the overly-sensitive head of Grif's cock and a rather impressive upwards thrust into his body and Grif lets go; dick jerking and painting even paler streaks all the way from Simmons' belly to the middle of his chest. Grif rides out his truly mind-shattering orgasm, feeling the muscles in Simmons' thighs clench; a sure sign he's not far behind. He looks down, locking blue eyes to green and whispers in a barely-there, strangled voice;

"Come for me, baby."

And that's that, because with a hoarse cry, Simmons is fucking arching off the bed and spilling himself inside Grif's ass; he feels the hot surge and the tell-tale wetness dripping down his thighs as it escapes with Simmons' wild thrusting.

When he collapses back down, Grif follows, sliding uncaringly through the wet mess of his own come on Simmons' body. He tucks his face into that pretty neck of his and hums appreciatively.

"Only time I've enjoyed you taking orders" he says and nips gently at Simmons' skin. The other man actually laughs weakly.

"Yeah, I don't know about the idea of Sarge calling me baby, though. That's A-grade disturbing shit right there." He says and Grif shudders.

"Urgh. Tell me about it." He agrees and Simmons' huffs in amusement.

"Um, how about no?"

"Smartass." Grif replies with none of the usual aggression and turns to press his lips against Simmons'. His mouth parts easily and the two enjoy a lazy tangle of tongues for a few moments as the sweat cools on their bodies.

"I really like kissing you..." Simmons remarks when they part, sounding almost as if he can't believe it himself.

"I really like riding your cock." Grif replies with a wicked grin and Simmons' gently cuffs him over the head.

"I mean it, you know." He affirms and Grif nods.

"So... We should probably do this more then?" He says, resting his head just beneath Simmons' collarbone.

"I think so. If you want we can just keep this as mutually beneficial thing..." he says.

"Or...?" Grif prompts because it sounds like Simmons' left the sentence hanging.

"Or we could... See how it develops."

The prospect doesn't sound nearly as scary as perhaps it should. Grif's not gay and he suspects Simmons isn't either. Can't really claim to be straight though, not after that. Grif isn't one to get too technical about sexuality though; out here in the canyon, things don't really work in the same terms as back home. No, whether he likes dudes or not isn't the issue... It's simply a question of whether he's prepared to make a commitment to somebody other than himself for once.

"Guess we could keep an open mind." He says at length and he thinks he can actually feel Simmons' grinning.

As much as he'd like to stay stretched out languidly across Simmons' body, he doesn't want them to end up stuck together and the fluid between them is already starting to get tacky. Grif pulls away and it makes a pretty obscene sound, causing Simmons' to let out a really stupid giggle.

"Come on, we should go get cleaned off." He says, helping the other man off the bed and to his feet.

"You know we're supposed to assemble with the others in like five minutes" Simmons points out. Grif just grins.

"We'll be quick" he promises, wrapping a hand around the back of Simmons' neck and pulling the taller man down for a kiss.

As they head off for a second shower that evening, Grif thinks about how the heat can make people do crazy things; he wonders if they'd have ended up where they are now without it. Strange really, how sometimes the best things can come out of crap situations. The canyon, the freakishly hot weather... Grif hates it all with a passion, but it's because of those things that he's gained something with Simmons and even though he's a bitchy pain in the ass, Grif doesn't think he'd want him to be different.

"Hey, next time I'm going to be on top; I think you put my back out. Maybe you should lose some weight?"

... At least most of the time.

* * *

_-End_


End file.
